The Revolutionism of the Russian Intelligentsia and its Adoration of the West
Adoration of the “enlightened” West, especially of the “democratic” and “human-loving” America, mindless imitation of the West and calls for copying all the “achievements” of Western “civilization” without exception, even dubious ones, without any analysis and without any reflection—all these traits have long been characteristic of a certain part of the Russian intelligentsia. This tendency was also strong in Soviet Russia; for example, many Soviet intellectuals mocked the theses about the decay of the West, about the contradictory and intrinsically flawed nature of Western culture, etc. Today, hardly anyone doubts the truth of these assertions.
Adoration of the West originated among a certain, and, to put it bluntly, not insignificant, part of the Russian intelligentsia almost simultaneously with its realization of its special role, its self-awareness of itself as an intelligentsia; just around the 1860s, when the very notion of “intelligentsia” appeared in Russian public life. This notion was somehow immediately connected with the nihilistic tendencies of Russian political thought, and the following conviction (“agenda,” as they say today) was established: An “honest” intellectual is obliged to oppose the state; and one can be anything—an anarchist, a Marxist, a Narodnik, a constitutionalist, a republican—but necessarily an oppositionist, an opponent of autocracy, a “revolutionary democrat;” finally, a nihilist. Otherwise, there was a “verdict”: tsarist, monarchist, reactionary, strangler of freedoms, enemy of progress, and so on. This “attitude,” as a general trend, only intensified in the ensuing years, penetrating everywhere; it even seeped into schools, so that few intellectuals were able to resist it.
Young people naively accepted the new trends and obeyed them. Here, for example, Lev Tikhomirov, the ideological leader of the “People’s Will” [“Narodnaya Volya”], who in the late 1880s rethought his political views, and after this turn became in many ways close to the ideas of Nikolay Danilevsky, recalls the years of his studies (and this is exactly the middle of the 1860s): “In the higher classes, i.e., grades 5, 6 and 7, I had quite republican ‛beliefs’, and how could it be otherwise? I did not hear a single word in defense of the monarchy… In history I was taught only that the times of monarchy are the times of ‛reaction,’ the times of the republic are ‛the epoch of progress’. In everything I read, I saw only the same thing”— Republicanism, progress—all this meant revolution, identified with it: I was a revolutionary. Everyone, everyone I studied, saw the revolution as an inevitable phase. We, the youth, had this belief. We had not the slightest suspicion that there might not be a revolution… We had the same unconditional faith in socialism, though understood vaguely, very vaguely” [24, p. 63].
Where did this faith come from? Who ignited it? The former revolutionary, political thinker-monarchist clearly answers this question: “This belief in revolution was created in our country, again, not by any conspirators, emigrants and professional revolutionaries. It is an old ‛Westernized’ idea that came from France and quite logically took root in our educated class. That the world develops by revolutions—it was an axiom in the era of my upbringing; it was a law. Whether anyone likes it or not, it will come to Russia, at least by the mere fact that it has not yet been; it is obvious that it must come soon” [25, p. 91].
The intelligentsia, according to the new “fashion,” needed to go to the people, bringing them the “light” from the West and the “gifts” of enlightenment: freedom, progress, democracy, republic, socialism—in one word, civilization. However, the intelligentsia had an extremely remote concept of the people and their life.
Here, in another work, Tikhomirov tells us: “We had no idea of the people, of their groans and joys, of their actual revolts, of their views on freedom and captivity. One day some pretty young lady in a gold pince-nez, wearing a fashionable dress, which she has not yet had time to change for supposedly peasant rags, sits and sings out in a thin voice: Freedom, freedom, free will! Why do you not come to us, swan? Do not fly away” [24, p. 90]. An interesting touch about the golden pince-nez.
Sophia Viktorova-Valter, one of the participants in the “going to the people” [“khozhdenie v narod,” a populist movement in the Russian Empire], recalls: “One of our radicals went to a village near Moscow and began to propagandize socialism. She settled there temporarily as a simple peasant woman and worked like all women. One day she needed to draw a bucket of water from a well, and since she was short-sighted, she put a pince-nez on her nose. My God, what a sensation it caused among the women! The whole village came to see the miracle!” [10, p. 113].
Another participant in the “going to the people,” Nikolai Sergeev recalls about his walk and impressions: “I was waiting to hear complaints about the bitter fate, stories about the hard lot, angry speeches about the perpetrators of ruin and poverty—landlords and capitalists, about the government authority. But the crowd either listened to the stories of old soldiers about their campaigns and battles, or of old men about various adventures of their wandering life, to tales of the doings of the village rich, of worldly drunkenness, but not a word, as we expected, on ‛political subjects.’ Apparently, the people were deaf to our preaching then; they were not prepared to listen to our speeches about their bitter plight and means to get rid of it” [10, p. 54–55].
“The evolution of Lev Tikhomirov, the movement of his thought towards conservatism and traditionalism,”—argues Alexander Shirinyants—”also meant a change of ideas about the intelligentsia… It is obsessed with only one idea, the idea of ‛re-creating’ the country, ‛remaking’ Russia according to the ‛latest,’ ‛progressive’ styles, although no one authorized it for this mission. The intelligentsia is detached from the living people, from the body of the nation; it does not even think about the question of whether Russia ‛needs such a re-creation;’ thus the intelligentsia puts itself on the verge of treason against the country” [28, p. 138].
It was necessary to prove to the people, to convince them that they were suffering unbearably as victims of autocracy (for the intelligentsia this was self-evident, as they themselves were convinced of it), and it was only necessary to throw off the shackles of tsarism, to “tear down the autocracy,” as Lev Tikhomirov put it. The people, according to the Narodniks, were capable of doing this themselves.
Then the revolutionaries came to the conclusion that the people themselves were still unable to “liberate themselves,” so that their liberation was the work of the revolutionary party. Having fulfilled its mission, the social-revolutionary party had to hand over power to the people, its “rightful owner.” Similar ideas would be developed by the successors of the “People’s Will”—the Bolsheviks, who would no longer emphasize the people, but the proletariat—the messianic class called by history to liberate mankind. In any case, the realization of progressive, liberating ideas was undoubtedly considered the destiny of the intelligentsia, which in 19th century Russia became the “political class,” an influential force that could not be disregarded.
“Already after the ‛intelligentsia’ became a social category in the consciousness of Russian society,”—as Lilianna Kiejzik summarizes—”progressive writers and publicists of the 19th century began to use this concept as an ideological category and to define by it those who fought for social transformation. By the 80s of the 19th century, there crystallized a new formulation: it was no longer enough to be simply educated and participate in public life to be an intellectual; it was necessary to protest against the entire political and economic system of the old regime and be ready to stand up for its overthrow, i.e., now to be an intellectual meant nothing else than to be a revolutionary” [20, p. 110].
Undoubtedly, the principles of the revolutionary nature of the intelligentsia in its confrontation with the state were interrelated and mutually reinforcing. At the same time, it was not that the predominant part of the intelligentsia in Russia was represented by detractors and nihilists. Rather, the “nihilists,” if considered as a whole, were strong, on the one hand, in their political exaltation, which made everyone, without exception, pay attention to them; on the other hand, in their mutual vouchsafing and common hatred, rare in intensity, of those whom they called “reactionaries” and “defenders of autocracy,” i.e., their enemies. Their “fundamental” enemy, as they believed and maintained, was the Russian autocratic state itself (or the “autocracy of the tsar,” as they used to say); so that the accusations of anti-state activity brought against the “nihilists” were more than justified.
Thus, it is characteristic and emblematic of the 1909 speech of a group of authors of the “Vekhi” Collection [Vekhi—Landmarks, Milestones; it was a collection of philosophical and political articles], who charged the Russian intelligentsia that its political activity had led to destructive consequences for the state.
The main idea expressed by the authors of “Vekhi” is that the interference of intellectuals, who are captive to radical doctrines and theories, in the political process can lead to a national catastrophe (as it turned out to be after a short time). The authors of “Vekhi” expose the anti-state nature of the radical intelligentsia, revealing its moral (or rather, amoral) image, describing it in terms of “heroism” (Sergey Bulgakov) and “apostasy” (Petr Struve) [otshchepenstvo—detachment or apostasy]. By “heroism” Sergey Bulgakov understands the lack of a sense of responsibility in the radical intelligentsia, for whom everything is allowed, and “with the maximalism of goals is associated with the maximalism of means” [4, p. 68]. Petr Struve came to the conclusion that “the ideological form of the Russian intelligentsia is its otshchepenstvo, its alienation from the state and hostility to it” [4, p. 230].
Thus, all the ideas inspired by the “leader of progress,” i.e., the West, were necessarily and without exception directed against the autocracy, the Russian “Ancien Régime.” At the same time, few people wanted to think whether the autocracy was really as reactionary as Western thinkers (of which Karl Marx was the main “anti-tsarist”) convinced it to be; was there not something positive in it?
Did the Russian people really desire an incomprehensible freedom? Or was this desire attributed and then imposed upon them? The revolutionaries, blinded by their thirst for the “liberation of the people,” did not ask themselves such questions, gripped by a fanatical desire to “liberate the people” by any means, up to and including terror. They were ready to die for the people, but they were completely unprepared to recognize even the possibility of criticizing their position, much less doubting it.
Here is a typical case. The former revolutionary Alexander Redko tells us: “Among the people close to me at that time was the daughter of a well-known figure in public education A. Nebolsina, a girl intelligent, imbued with ideas of duty and straightforward… She said that she had become disillusioned with terror, that she saw no other means of struggle, and therefore she did not want to live any longer and asked me to help her get some poison (I was then a technologist-chemist)… I convinced her that apart from terror other methods of struggle for the liberation of the people were possible; one could sacrifice one’s life by going to the countryside, giving it entirely to the service of the muzhik [here it redneck], to muzhik darkness and to muzhik idleness. But A. Nebolsina answered me with a phrase that still rings in my ears: ‛I can die for the people, but to live for them, I cannot. I almost hate them.’ I knew that she this was not some phrase… Nebolsina in the end still committed suicide” [10, p. 464].
How was the nihilism and anti-state revolutionism of the intelligentsia connected with its adoration of European currents of thought, of Europe as a kind of holistic spiritual organism? After all, Alexander Pushkin was an admirer of Western European liberalism, primarily in the person of Benjamin Constant, but it did not lead him to the conviction of the need to overthrow the monarchy, as well as to anti-state conclusions in general? Actually, both Benjamin Constant and Alexis de Tocqueville, and John Stuart Mill, and other classics of Western political thought of the 19th century, were not anti-ethnicists themselves, and certainly did not fight against their states.
It is clear that this is not a matter of the influence of Western political thought on Russian thought; in any case, such influence cannot be considered determinative. How, then, other than through theories, concepts, doctrines, did the West exert such a strong influence on the Russian intelligentsia? How did it bow down to the West, which was alien to it, without resistance and even willingly, and become disgusted, to the point of hatred, with its Fatherland? After all, life in the West has never delighted all those Russians who have lived there, whether for a long time or not, including even the most anti-state-minded. Moreover, many of the latter, having become intimately acquainted with the West, lost all attachment to it and sought to return to Russia, revising their long-standing hostile ideas about Russia and emphasizing them.
Why do nihilism and detachment turn out to be aimed at the destruction of the Russian state, set against the autocracy? How can a simple fascination with Western ideas and Western culture make an intellectual turn against his country? This question is answered by Nikolay Danilevsky in his remarkable work Russia and Europe, and the answer to this question is quite simple—the West is fundamentally hostile to Russia, and this hostility permeates the West’s entire culture, permeates the entire organism of the West. Hostility and hatred are the West’s political and psychological dominant attitude towards Russia, and they inevitably infect those who in one way or another come into contact with the West.
At the same time, the West speaks convincingly enough and from a position of superiority, so that it is able to make an overwhelming impression. The West can look spectacular, brilliant, even dazzling; it can easily make others feel their own worthlessness, vulnerability, nothingness; and then impose the desire to imitate it, to worship it, to follow its “teachers” in everything, without criticizing any views and without ignoring any “recommendations” of the adherents of the “globalist version of cultural proselytism” (Valery Rastorguev’s term, see [19, p. 23]). As a modern example, we can cite the “democratic proselytism” of the USA—a set of ideas of “promotion of democracy” as a benign way of rigidly imposing its own imperatives on the rest of the world. This is the power of European influence, and it is more than a serious force that cannot be disregarded, and its origins and methods of countering it should be thoughtfully studied and painstakingly developed. Danilevsky’s main work is devoted to this.
Nikolay Danilevsky: Europeanization as a Disease of Russian Life
The cause and source of nihilism, Russophobia, revolutionism, detachment and apostasy and other similar symptoms, according to Danilevsky, is Europeanism. This, according to Danilevsky, is a disease of Russian life; but it is more legitimate to call it a disease of the Russian soul. The thinker considers the forms of the disease, its symptoms, the causes that led to it, and offers methods of cure; or, in any case, he develops a strategy that can lead to a favorable outcome. It is necessary to finalize what the thinker wanted to say and warn about: Europeanism is a mental disease, a kind of, using the term of German psychiatry of the 19th century, “unified psychosis” (or “complex psychosis”) of Russian culture and politics (i.e., speaking in medical terms, it is an independent nosological unit, not a syndrome).
This is a delusional attraction of the intelligentsia. Its essence is clear from its name, but the question immediately arises: what, in fact, can be dangerous in admiring the culture of Europe and even in low worship of it, even if it is hostile to Russia? Why do we consider “Europomania” to be a disease (“Euroaddiction” and then “Eurointoxication”) and not a mild functional disorder or a simple infatuation, which has nothing to do with any illnesses and disorders at all?
The point is that this delusional disorder of Russia’s mental life has dangerous consequences that are not at all reducible to some kind of cultural deviations or perversions in art, which in themselves do not pose any immediate danger. After all, the matter cannot be limited to the influence on culture, because culture, having been subjected to hostile influence, has an impact on Russia’s social practice and foreign policy. Perhaps today this idea is unlikely to raise objections due to its self-evident nature; but following Danilevsky it is necessary to expand it, tracing how a seemingly innocent “fascination” leads to detrimental consequences.
Speaking about the forms of Europeanization, Danilevsky names three such forms, and the most dangerous of them—the third, “the most pernicious and harmful,” which “consists in looking at the phenomena of internal and external life of Russia from the European point of view and through European glasses. This view, by all means trying to bring the phenomena of Russian life under the norms of European life, doing it either unconsciously (due to the drying up of the original spring of Russian thought), or even consciously (in order to give these phenomena honor and dignity, which they would be deprived of, if they did not have a European character), has produced a lot of perplexity and all sorts of confusion in the field of science and incalculable harm in practice” [8, p. 288]. This is the very trait that Emperor Alexander III called “monkeying [playing the ape] around in front of Europe.”
It would seem that nihilism and other purely anti-state trends of thought and practice should not be the essence of the disease. Should not the efforts of state power be directed against them. No; the reason here, according to Danilevsky, is the recognition of alien and foreign European views and opinions as the norm, the standard, and Europe as the judge, i.e., the one who passes judgment, the instance of truth.
The philosopher emphasizes that “nihilism, aristocratism, democratism, and constitutionalism are only very particular manifestations of our Europeanism; its most general form, apparently less malicious, but in fact much more dangerous than all of them, is our balancing before the public opinion of Europe, which we have recognized as our judge, before whose decision we tremble, whose favor we seek. Such an attitude to foreign public opinion, even if it were not radically hostile to everything Russian, cannot but deprive us of any kind of a freedom of thought, any self-activity” [8, p. 294].
As a result, the moral motive of actions for Russian thinkers and politicians instead of the interests of the state becomes “cowardly fear of the verdicts of Europe, humiliatingly vain pleasure from its praise” [8, p. 294], i.e., foreign interests imposed by a hostile force.
Discussing Europeanization, Fyodor Girenok writes: “What kind of disease is this? It is a cowardly fear of the verdicts of Europe. And at the same time a surprisingly vain pleasure from its praise” [5, p. 195].
The fascination with Europe, the attraction to it, leads, says Danilevsky, to “spiritual captivity and slavery” [8, p. 300], i.e. ,to the same thing that the attraction to consciousness-altering substances leads a person—in fact, to the change of consciousness to such an extent that one forgets one’s interests and ultimately oneself; that is, to self-decay. For this to happen, it is enough for the “Euro-addiction” to take hold of a sufficient part of the intelligentsia and politicians—in any case, society and public consciousness will be split, and thus incapable not only of counteracting, but even of realizing what is happening.
Meanwhile, Danilevsky emphasizes, Europe itself, although it has never been a unified political body, in its hatred of Russia quite retains its unity and fighting spirit, so that “whatever the interests that divide Europe, they are all united in a common hostile feeling toward Russia. In this clerics give a hand to liberals, Catholics—Protestants, conservatives—progressives, aristocrats—democrats, monarchists—anarchists, reds—whites, Legitimists and Orleanists—Bonapartists” [8, p. 298].
Today, these words sound amazingly relevant!
As per the lines along which Russian society is splintering and its public consciousness is becoming, according to the generally accepted terminology, schizophrenic, Europe not only retains its unity, but also strengthens it. Moreover, it finds its unity precisely in this confrontation—analyzing Danilevsky’s concept, Boris Baluev succinctly formulates his conclusion, the essence of which is that “Europe appears as an integral, unified political organism every time it determines its attitude to Russia, to Slavdom” [2, p. 256].
At the same time, Europe does not tire of accusing Russia of aggressiveness, hostility, etc., which is nothing more than a false pretense, Pharisaism; and nowadays—a disgusting farce.
The thought that the Russian idea is “an attempt of self-reflection, built in contrast to the ‛West’ and its values” [21, p. 74], i.e., the result of intellectual confrontation with the West, is not uncommon in Russian literature [21, p. 74]. Accordingly, the conclusion is made: “Russian culture as if does not think itself outside of this confrontation. Without the challenge of the ‛West,’ the ‛Russian idea’ is not quite understandable: after all, it is an attempt to express its own identity primarily as a different identity in relation to the ‛West’” [21, p. 75].
In fact, as Danilevsky proves, everything is exactly the opposite—it turns out that the “European idea” itself, i.e., in a general sense, the totality of concepts of European unity, is largely built, has its foundations and finds its meaning in the confrontation with Russia.
It should be noted that Russian Russophobes who lackey up to Europe and spit on their country have never aroused “reciprocal sympathy”: such people are despised by their “clients”: “Many Russian thinkers,” says Boris Baluev, “have repeatedly noticed that those Russian intellectuals who tried to earn compliments in the West by blaspheming their country, by blaspheming the Russian people, as a rule, caused a condescending and contemptuous attitude towards themselves there. ‛And the more we despised our nationality to please them’, wrote Fyodor Dostoevsky. in 1877, in the Diary of a Writer, the more they themselves despised us’” [2, p. 240].
Nevertheless, continues the researcher of Danilevsky’s work, “these exhortations of the Russian genius, however, had little effect on the intelligentsia that was in a frenzy of Europeanization. ‛Universal values,’ European civilization as their model—for all this was more important than ‛national egoism,’ which stigmatized the slightest manifestation of patriotic feeling. The ranks of intellectuals, lackeying up Western ‛public opinion,’ continued to swell” [2, p. 240–241].
Baluev summarizes: “Thus, the ‛Europeanization’ of the educated circles of Russia, including some of the highest dignitaries, Danilevsky perceived as a serious, dangerous disease, threatening not only the health of the country, but also its very existence. For this ‛Europeanization’ according to Danilevsky’s observation, not only did not weaken the intensity of hostility of the West to Russia, but rather the opposite—as if encouraging this hostility and its manifestations” [2, p. 267].
Following Danilevsky’s logic, we may rightly ask the question: if Europeanism is, in short, a psychosis, then what is European fundamental Russophobia, if not the same psychosis? The influence of Europe is such that it deprives reason and carries away to riot, discord and decay.
The warning and harsh, merciless diagnosis of the thinker in full was not accepted by his contemporaries: according to Boris Dvernitsky, “there is no doubt that Danilevsky was poorly understood by his contemporaries, and not only by the ‛progressive’ like Vladimir Solovyov, but also by the conservative-minded. Even Fyodor Dostoevsky, after his first and strong fascination in earlier years, cooled towards the thinker for his excessive criticism of Europe. Danilevsky was not ready to shed tears in front of its ‛high altars’” [9, p. 66].
And nowadays, although Russia is increasingly convinced of Danilevsky’s correctness regarding the fundamental hostility of Europe itself (and now that it no longer rules itself)—but, nevertheless, according to Alexander Burenkov, “the Russian political and social elite, still, as in the times of Danilevsky’s Russia and Europe, considers Russia to be a part of Western civilization, so it is unable to formulate an adequate political program of action” [3, p. 12].
It is also impossible not to agree with the conclusion of Farman Kuliev and Natalia Kulieva, who say: “The problem of ‛Europeanization,’ investigated by Danilevsky, is relevant today. This topic has become an object of acute polemics in the emerging civil society in our country. Today a clear conviction has been formed about the increasing importance of traditions in culture, the need to take into account the national peculiarities of cultural development, the uselessness of activities and the harm of blindly copying the samples of other cultures. Modern Russian society continues to be infected with the disease of ‛Europeanization.’ Therefore, the public should listen to the voice of figures who share Danilevsky’s point of view” [12, p. 93].
The history of Russia has shown such a development of Danilevsky’s ideas that neither he nor anyone else could have imagined: Marxism—i.e., in the spirit of Danilevsky’s concept, Europeanism par excellence, an acute form of “unified psychosis”—in the twentieth century took possession of Russia, turned its history upside down; but it was also put at the service of the Russian state, and brought Russia in the second half of the twentieth century to such heights of world history which it had not reached before.
Joseph Stalin embodied many of the ideas of Danilevsky—and as for the union of the Slavs, and as for the attitude to Europe, and as for the cure of intellectuals from the disease of Europeanization, in Stalin’s era was called “cosmopolitanism.” However, the essence of the matter is not even that. Stalin was guided in all his decisions and deeds exclusively by the interests of the state, determining these interests and the development of Marxist theory; and this principle—the interests of the state must come first—was the starting point of Danilevsky’s political philosophy.
It is interesting that Valery Rastorguev considered Danilevsky’s political philosophy as the source of the doctrine of Russia as a state-civilization: “The main idea of Danilevsky, which is the essence of the concept of ‛Russia as a state-civilization,’ is that a strong power is the most reliable guarantor of the preservation of the Russian world and our civilizational identity. Danilevsky compared the Russian state with a strong ‛shell’ of Russian civilization, protecting its core, emphasizing that a shell without the core is not needed” [19, p. 13].
Marxism is a Western Doctrine Turned against the West
How and why does the fascination with European ideas lead to the spread of nihilistic ideas? Is it not the case that those ideas which are transformed on our soil into what may be called by the general name of “nihilism” are quite suitable for our environment; for otherwise they would be rejected and pass away without a trace? Unfortunately although these ideas are alien to Russia, the attachment of intellectuals and politicians to Europe, their fascination with its ideological products, renders them—and, thanks to this, society—powerless against hostile ideological influences.
Although nihilism is alien to Russia, it has no immunity to it—in fact, immunity should be possessed by the conscious part of Russian society, whereas it succumbs to the influence of the disease with great pleasure and even eagerness, without thinking to resist it at all.
Tikhomirov shows this in relief, revealing how, with a certain understanding of the harm of nihilism for the Russian soul, the youth nevertheless could not resist it: “All this nihilistic education, with all its sharpness, was, however, full of contradictions. Ideas of communism and ideas of boundless freedom. The absence of obligation and the demand for morality, unknown for what and by what right. The republic—and the impossibility of it. In addition—the struggle of all this with the basic Russian fund of the soul. The result was chaos, contradictions. Nothing clear” [24, p. 64].
Thus, nihilism as an internal political consequence of Europeanization turned out to be, perhaps, the most sought-after “product,” and, accordingly, this symptom—or, better to say, “complication”—was most developed. Danilevsky, according to Baluev, “explains the spread of nihilism solely by the disease of imitation of the West, widespread in the Russian intelligentsia. All the latest theories, including the socialist ideas of Marx and Lasalle, Danilevsky argues, were immediately adopted, became the next fashion. And any thoughtless imitation, on the principle, that this is the latest word of the West, and so it is the most correct—always leads to caricature, Danilevsky believes” [2, p. 58].
“What is nihilism?” Danilevsky asks, “Nihilism is consistent materialism, and nothing else… Without original development, accustomed to take our foreign teachers’ word for it, and recently being taught exclusively by German science, we were infected by the newest and most fashionable of its version, which met neither internal nor external opposition” [8, p. 29].
Danilevsky develops the idea of the connection between nihilism and materialism, revealing their common source—Germany: “…Materialism is not only the root of nihilism, but in a theoretical sense even coincides with it. Are not the names of Feuerbach, Strauss, Stirner, Vogt, Moleschott, Buechner, Heckel the luminaries and teachers of the new materialism? Are they not at the same time the spiritual fathers and progenitors of our nihilism? For, if this doctrine came in the last century from France, from the encyclopedists and their followers, then from the second half of this century, and even a little earlier, was not it developed mainly in Germany, and not from there passed to us?” [7, p. 302].
The intellectual apotheosis of nihilism-materialism was Marxism in Russia, the development of which Danilevsky did not see, but which, according to Danilevsky’s doctrine, is certainly qualified as a kind of Europeanism. The beginning of the spread of Marxism in Russia, of course, was not hidden from the thinker: “Danilevsky did not remain unnoticing of such events as the founding of the 1st International in 1864 and the publication of the first volume of Marx’s Capital in 1867. Danilevsky mentions in a negative way both communism and Marx among the names that the Russian intelligentsia began to mindlessly worship” [2, p. 85].
The thinker shows the connection between European nihilism and socialism, clearly showing the interconnectedness of European philosophical and political ideas: “But not only pure theoretical nihilism was borrowed by us from there—is it not from there that socialism in its newest form of development also came to us? And as for the first direct and immediate teachers, of course, were the German materialists, so for the latter the same teachers for us were Lasalle, Marx and other German socialists” [7, p. 303].
But as much as nihilism and socialism were linked, Lenin and the Bolsheviks’ adoration of Europe was not peculiar to them in the slightest.
What is Marxism in relation to Russia’s history? What was it and what has it become for Russia?
Alexander Panarin considers Marxism (as well as neoliberalism) as a “great doctrine” (synonyms: “advanced ideology,” “promising utopia”), born in the West, then “imported” and used by the Bolsheviks as the basis for the project of building a fundamentally new society and state. The scientist notes that both Marxism and liberalism (neoliberalism) were destructive in their influence on Russia because of their hostility to the very image and essence of Russia.
At the same time, the second “great doctrine,” imported not from Germany, but from America, turned out to be much more destructive due to the fact that it was a fusion of anti-state and anti-people ideas, serving the “great-power globalism of America” [16, p. 92], and its main task is to reduce man to the level of a cog in the market world “anti- Leviathan.” In this sense, Panarin’s interpretation of neoliberalism as a “great doctrine” is quite close to Alexander Zinoviev’s concept of “Westernism” and “Westernization.”
The purpose of “great doctrines,” according to Panarin, “is not really to make our life in history orderly and to discover its laws; their role is rather to inspire and encourage us, to encourage us to take the risk of decisive collective action. Armed with ‛doctrine,’ people as a rule achieve more in politics: not because the doctrine is correct, but because it mobilizes the will and energy of those that do not possess these as they are initially imbued with skepticism and do not expect much change for the better” [17, p. 47–48].
Panarin is right in his criticism of Marxism as a “great doctrine” that destroyed the Russian Empire. He is also right that Marxism itself is not intended for state-building, being rather a theory directed against the state as such: the unified proletariat, having seized power and property, will destroy the old states and borders, national distinctions will be gradually erased—so that there is no place left for the state in the world of the future, it—or rather, they, the numerous states, will die out. There is also no place in Marxism for the category of “people,” who are reduced to the “exploited mass” opposed to the “exploiters.”
It would seem that Marxism could not bring anything good to Russia; and this is despite the fact that we are not talking here about the personal, extremely hostile attitude of the two German founders to Russia. But nevertheless this doctrine, being transformed to suit the tasks of the Soviet state (and in this one cannot but see the irony of the history of political ideas) became for the USSR the basis of its spiritual life, brought serious positive results, and as a result played the role of consolidating ideology of the Soviet society and became the ideological basis of Soviet civilization.
Marx and Engels were put at the service of the Soviet state, joining the ranks of Russian statesmen, beginning with Alexander Nevsky (which, of course, would have been extremely puzzling to the two German thinkers, the founders of Marxism, who would have been immensely surprised if they had learned about this in some mystical way).
The point is, according to Panarin’s teaching, that the messianic role of Russia, which the philosopher formulates as the defense of the weak against the strong (in the metaphysical and historiosophic sense), was also perceived by the USSR.
We find a similar statement in the famous historian, academician Yury Polyakov: “Calling itself ‛holy Russia,’ the ‛God-bearer nation,’ saying that ‛Moscow is the third Rome, and the fourth will not happen,’ the Russian people got used to the idea of their exclusivity. Exclusiveness in a special sense. Not in terms of striving for domination over other peoples, not in terms of racial superiority, the presence of special qualities that put Russians above others. Exclusivity—only in the messianic role intended for Russia, in its readiness to pave the way to the future for all, sacrificing, if necessary, itself” [18, p. 60].
In fact, we are talking about the fact that the “Russian idea” did not die, but radically changed forms, becoming a Soviet idea, the meaning of Soviet messianism. And in this Panarin, as Vasily Kurabtsev writes, “is paradoxically right, because the Empire passed from hand to hand with inevitable succession: The messianistic assignment of Russia, determined by the greatest scale of the country, issues of strong defense (in a hostile environment), geopolitical, ideological and other interests of the USSR” has also passed on” [13, p. 65].
“In the Soviet period of national history,” says Evgeny Moschelkov. Moschelkov, “the ‛Russian idea’ underwent a metamorphosis, transforming into the ‛Soviet idea,’ largely adopting the twisted principles of imperialism and messianism of the previous period… The concept and policy of ‛Moscow—the Third Rome’ was transformed into the ideology and practice of ‛Moscow—the Third International,’ ‛Moscow—the center of world communism’… Soviet Russia again had something to say to the world and something to be known for” [14, p. 76].
Evgeny Gromov, who investigated Stalin’s methods of guiding literature and art, concludes: “In the twentieth century, during the Stalinist era, the Russian idea underwent a significant metamorphosis. Not only was Orthodoxy taken out of it, but also the openness of the Russian man to the whole world, to universal culture and values. And yet one cannot but admire the inner strength, the multidimensionality of the Russian idea itself, its deep rootedness in the historical memory of our people. Without addressing, even unconsciously, the Russian idea, ignoring it, Stalin could not rule the country” [6, с. 171].
Georgy Fedotov, calling the image and essence of Stalin’s rule “new autocracy,” briefly answers the question, why “Marx and Alexander Nevsky in the same gallery of ancestors?” [26, p. 53], i.e., why the establishment of a new image and mode of government was possible: “In Russia, the new autocracy succeeded because it replaced the old one” [26, p. 60].
The Russian messianic idea was identical to the Soviet idea, but the Soviet idea was devoid of religiosity. At the same time, they are hypostases of the same essence. This was noted by Nikolai Berdyaev, who, according to Alexey Tselikovsky, “not only draws an analogy between the messianic idea of the ‛Third Rome’ and communist ideology, he talks about the common origins of Russian religious messianism and Russian communism. According to Berdyaev, the ideology of the Third International is a spiritual ‛heiress’ of the religious ideology of the Third Rome” [27, p. 111]. Western ideologists studying Russian messianism in its historical dynamics, as a rule, associate it with the dogma of Russia’s “aggressiveness.”
Marxism was for the Soviet state not only the basis for building a socialist ideology that united the social strata and peoples of Russia. Thanks to Marxism, the USSR became, albeit for a short period of time by historical standards, the first of the two superpowers of the world, one of the two “teachers of the world,” including Europe, from which Russia received this doctrine.
Marxism in the hands of the Party became an instrument of defense against hostile forces and ideas—ideas, of course, of Western origin. It is not without reason that the Russian Communist Party defined itself as a force armed with the Marxist-Leninist doctrine. It turned out that the Western doctrine, instead of destroying Russia, on the contrary, became for it both a defensive and offensive weapon.
The Western ideological creation, intended to be an instrument of Western influence, was turned against the West! From its usual strategy of attack, the aggressive West was forced to go on the defensive, shouting loudly about the “Soviet threat.”
The new Soviet intellectual tool was taken quite seriously by Russia’s opponents and caused them great apprehension. These fears were not groundless: after the Second World War, the Western Communist Parties, first of all in France and Italy, were gaining great influence in European politics, and Marxism, as if returning from the East, where it had gained strength, was beginning its triumphal march across Europe.
Much can be said about the West European intellectual crusade against Marxism in the mid-1950s under the name of “the end of ideology,” “de-ideologization;” but we should limit ourselves to describing the personal ideological crusade against Marxism of the right-wing intellectual, convinced Atlantist, Raymond Aron, author of the work, The Opium of Intellectuals (1955).
How does Aron explain the power of Marxism? What does he see as the reason for its powerful influence on Western European intellectuals? In the fact that Marxism is essentially a “secular religion;” its strength lies in the fact that it “appropriates the eternal quest for justice, it predicts the triumph of the dispossessed;” that is, it leads to salvation—and salvation is impossible outside the Church, that is, the party, which “cannot and dare not err, since it preaches and embodies historical truth” [1, p. 83].
Aron’s aim is to expose what he calls “Marxist mythology” or “Stalinist scholasticism,” to show that there is no real basis for the communist movement in Western Europe; that intellectuals following the “Marxist paradigm” are under the influence of the “opium of intellectuals” (this is how he “qualifies” Marxism), i.e., blinded by Marxist myths (about the proletariat, about the class struggle, about the socialist revolution). These “Marxist myths,” Aron is convinced, should be countered with intellectual weapons by developing a set of offensive anti-communist ideologems. Intellectuals should be educated and shown the harm of the “drug.”
What does Aron propose to replace Marxism with? What is the essence of his “substitution therapy?” The French intellectual offers a “worthy substitute,” a kind of “Valium” (International Nonproprietary Name—Diazepam) for intellectuals, and this is the American way of life, or Americanism. In Aron’s interpretation, Americanism is a positive system of life outlooks, the basis of the quiet life of the “good society”: “Americanism is not formulated by a system of concepts or assumptions; it knows no collective savior, no completion of history, no cause that determines development… Americanism knows no elaborated creed or official interpretation” [1, с. 215].
It has no “side effects” in the form of agitation and aspiration to fight for something—on the contrary, this “medicine” helps a measured life without unnecessary exaltation and “convulsive” states. As one can easily see, in the person of Aron (and not only him), Western anti-communism perceives Marxism as a kind of pathology, a mental illness, a kind of delirium, and “medicine” is prescribed accordingly. (It should be noted that Hannah Arendt, who was also a participant in the “de-ideologization” movement at the time, considered Communism a dangerous disease.)
Ironically, in the same year of 1955, when Aron’s Opium of the Intellectuals was published, French psychiatrists proposed the term “neuroleptic” to designate a new class of drugs with antipsychotic activity, the first of which was chlorpromazine, synthesized in France in 1950; its sedative and antipsychotic activity was discovered in 1952, when numerous concepts of “de-ideologization” (“the end of ideologies”) began to be promoted. The first neuroleptics, first of all chlorpromazine, which became widely known in the USA under the brand name “Thorazine” (in the USSR – “Aminazine”), began to arrive on the pharmaceutical market of the West. Soon new sedative drugs of the benzodiazepine series also appeared, the first of which was chlordiazepoxide—synthesized in 1955, released in 1960 under the brand name Librium; then came Valium (1963)—diazepam, synthesized in 1959. Since the late 1950s, antidepressants, which at first were substances of the same group as chlorpromazine, began to enter the market.
Nowadays, it is impossible to imagine the Western way of life without tranquilizers, antipsychotics, and the total power of psychiatrists. Thus, it is quite possible to consider the dreams of the American behaviorist psychologist Burrhus Frederic. Skinner, who in his utopia Walden-2, published in 1948, described a society governed by psychologists, turning citizens into correctly working body-machines, to have come true. Skinner was not talking about drugs, but about the impact of psychological influence (engineering, behavioral technology)—for the essence does not change.
Skinner describes in detail the basics of functioning, structure, methods of management and control over the behavior of citizens of his utopian society, called by the author, either not noticing the irony or hypnotizing himself, “the freest place on earth.” At that time, the only thing lacking for this was the means of control—they would be created in a few years, and psychiatrists would to some extent acquire the power that Skinner’s psychologists had (on B. Skinner’s theory see: [15, p. 55–66]). Of course, this book and especially the 1971 work, Beyond Freedom and Dignity, which developed the ideas of strengthening control over personality and culture, caused a wave of criticism—in fact, Skinner was accused of revealing, consciously or not, the already well-known secret of the American way of life, which was not accepted then (and is not supposed to be revealed now). This secret is simple: there is no “individual freedom” in the USA, as well as in the West in general; and what is passed off as such, according to Skinner, is a social deviation and a mental illness that needs correction and treatment, respectively.
To Skinner’s credit, he was skeptical, if not negative, about psychoactive drugs; in fact, such a utopia without the use of any drugs does not even make theoretical sense. Skinner’s followers, accepting his theory and relying on it, began to develop and successfully introduce into socio-medical practice schemes using not only pharmacological drugs, but also methods of electrophysiology and psychosurgery for “behavior correction” (see: [15, p. 68–82]). Taking all this into account, it is difficult to treat Aron’s constructions, his odes to the American way of life, his struggle for the “sobering up” of Western European intellectuals and their “liberation” from excessive anxiety and agitation caused by excessive “addiction” to Marxism without sarcasm.
Europeanization in the USSR as Sycophancy towards the West
Europeanization is a serious disease; and in all probability it will haunt Russia as long as Europe will exist as a political unity. The only question is how to identify the episodes of exacerbation and what measures to take to control the symptoms, so that they do not overdevelop, threatening the social organism; that is, when and what “inoculations” and therapeutic measures to take. It is obvious that the West is not averse to provoking and supporting the outbreaks of this disease—this is how periods of aggravation, logically coinciding with periods of increased political and ideological confrontation between Russia and the West, are obtained.
Danilevsky’s book, Russia and Europe, itself was born against the background of one of such episodes of Russian-European confrontation: Danilevsky, raising his voice in defense of Russian values and goals, developed and proposed a system of defense measures against Western influence and a system of recommendations for Russia’s policy towards Europe.
Almost immediately after World War II, the collective West—now led by America, while England, which had previously played this role, had “retired”—opened a new confrontation with Russia-USSR. The eternal Western Russophobia, which took the form of anti-communism, with the formation of the world’s first socialist state, flared up with renewed vigor at the end of the war. Former allies of the USSR became enemies. From time to time, anti-communism, especially in the USA, too openly resembled hysteria: remember McCarthyism, whose “founder,” Senator Joseph McCarthy, by the way, suffered from alcoholism and died by it. Remember also James Forrestol, who became a symbol of anti-Soviet hysteria. Being in a state of real (not intellectual) psychosis, he committed suicide in a psychiatric hospital. It should be noted that these examples show the insecurity of the paroxysmal passions and fanaticism of the anti-Communist Russophobes themselves, as well as the fact that Russophobia, regardless of its type, is at least very close to a psychotic status.
The USSR’s response to the postwar anti-Soviet campaign was a counter-campaign against “sycophancy towards the West,” directed against some (quite influential) representatives and tendencies among the Soviet intelligentsia. Of course, the Soviet vocabulary of those years was also characterized by intolerance and a certain amount of the same fanaticism and temerity. However, it was important for Stalin to “hammer” certain maxims and rules into the minds of the Soviet intelligentsia—so much so that emotional overreaching did not seem undesirable. The cure was harsh—but the disease was also dangerous.
According to the memoirs of Konstantin Simonov, Joseph Stalin once told him: “If you take our average intelligentsia, scientific intelligentsia, professors, doctors… they are not sufficiently educated in the sense of Soviet patriotism. They have an unjustified adoration of foreign culture. All feel themselves to be still underage, non-stoic, accustomed to consider themselves in the position of eternal pupils. This tradition is backward” [22, с. 126].
In the literature, there is often talk about Stalin’s Slavophilism, when the latter from a certain point began to talk about a “new Slavophilism,” different from the pre-revolutionary “great-power panslavism.” This is associated with the line of Slavocentrism, the ideological justification of the unity of the Slavic peoples within the framework of the construction of the unity of the bloc of countries of people’s democracy, as the basis of the system of world socialism being created.
For the first time at the official level, the call to combat low worship was heard in the resolution of the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party (Bolsheviks), On the Magazines ‛Zvezda’ and ‛Leningrad’” (1946), which condemns “the spirit of low worship to the modern bourgeois culture of the West, which is uncharacteristic of Soviet people” [23, p. 67]. At the level of party attitude, the new tendencies come out in the “Plan of Measures to Promote among the Population the Ideas of Soviet Patriotism,” approved by the Agitprop in April 1947, where it is stated that adoration of the West “means the recognition of spiritual dependence on capitalism, on the world of exploiters” [23, p. 111], and that it is necessary to fight “against anti-scientific theories about the disciple role of the Russian people in the field of science and culture before the West” [23, p. 112].
Certain passages of this document give the impression as if the authors were well acquainted with the main work of Danilevsky, for example: “It is necessary to explain that certain groups of the ruling classes of Russia, detached from their people and alien to them, sought to belittle the great achievements of the Russian people and groveled before foreigners. Even such a progressive figure as Peter the Great, transferring to Russia the advanced forms of life of the West, allowed national humiliation of the Russian people before foreigners. In the second half of the 18th and early 19th centuries, the upper Russian nobility blindly imitated foreign mores, made heavy use of the French language and in every way belittled native Russian speech. Decadence, which developed in the late 19th century and early 20th century, captured all areas of the ruling class ideology. It is characterized by servility to Western culture” [23, p. 112].
1947 was the year of the beginning of the global Soviet-Western confrontation and the formation of two world blocs—the poles of the bipolar system. “The radical changes in the international situation and in the position of individual countries as a result of the war,” says Andrey Zhdanov at the first founding meeting of the union of Communist Parties of a new type—Cominform, held in Poland in the fall of 1947, “changed the entire political picture of the world. A new balance of political forces was created. The longer the period separating us from the end of the war, the more sharply the two main trends in post-war international politics stand out, corresponding to the division of the political forces operating on the world scene into two main camps—the imperialist and anti-democratic camp, on the one hand, and the anti-imperialist and democratic camp, on the other. The main leading force of the imperialist camp is the USA. In alliance with the U.S. are England and France” [11, p. 22].
At the same meeting there was also a report by Georgy Malenkov, in which it was said: “The Party has recently had to launch a decisive struggle against various manifestations of low worship and servility to the bourgeois culture of the West, which are widespread among certain strata of our intelligentsia and represent one of the vestiges of the accursed past of tsarist Russia. The Party had to deal a decisive blow to a number of specific manifestations of such low worship and servility, because these manifestations represent at this stage a serious danger to the interests of the Soviet state, because the agents of international reaction seek to use people infected with a sense of servility and low worship of bourgeois culture, in order to weaken the Soviet state” [11, p. 146–147].
In what does Malenkov see the roots of “servility and sycophancy towards the foreigners,” the origins of such “anti-patriotic actions?” Of course, he finds them in the remnants of the “cursed past”: “The ruling classes of tsarist Russia, detached from the people and alien to them, did not believe in the creative forces of the Russian people and did not allow the possibility for Russia by its own efforts to get out of backwardness. Hence, stemmed from the misconception that Russians should always play the role of ‛disciples’ of Western European ‛teachers’” [11, p. 147–148]. A little later, in spite of those who accepted this position about the eternal “discipleship” of the Russian people, the slogan “We are the teachers of the whole world” became popular in Soviet culture.
Soviet ideology defined cosmopolitanism as the adoration of “foreigners” associated with contempt for one’s own country; and this contempt, or even hatred, is primary in the present. Lev Tikhomirov wrote scathingly about this in his monarchist period: “The cosmopolitanism of our educated class had to degenerate into something even worse. The French or German anarchist hates modern society in general, not specifically his own—German or French. Our cosmopolitan, in fact, is not even a cosmopolitan; to his heart not all countries are the same, but all are more pleasant than the fatherland. The spiritual fatherland for him is France or England, in general ‛Europe’: in relation to them he is not a cosmopolitan, but the most partial patriot. In Russia, everything is so repugnant to his ideals that even the thought of it excites in him a dreary feeling” [25, p. 76].
In 1949, the campaign enriched its vocabulary: the concept of “cosmopolitanism” was added as an accusation (usually with the addition of the epithets “homeless,” “denuded,” “malicious”), sometimes replaced by the concept of “national nihilism,” and the entire campaign took the form in which it remained in the history of the USSR—a campaign against cosmopolitanism. The first document in this series was the famous article in Pravda of January 28, 1949, “About One Anti-Patriotic Group of Theater Critics”—famous not least for the fact that theater critics were chosen as the object of schismatization, apparently deliberately, because nothing in principle depended on their opinion, their ideological state, or their “moral character.”
Yury Polyakov recalls: “The article was published on January 28, 1949, in the newspaper Pravda. It was published modestly, on the third page (although it took up two-thirds of it) without a signature, as an editorial, under the intriguingly alarming and threatening title: ‛About One Anti-Patriotic Group of Theater Critics’. What was intriguing was why the editorial was interested in a certain group of theater critics. What was alarming was that a huge editorial was being printed. The word ‛anti-patriotic’ sounded threatening—it was already an accusation of a political nature” [18, p. 309–310].
It is clear that Soviet propaganda was targeting a much larger sector than these unfortunate critics, whose images were presented in a rather caricatured way, as the general tone of the article is filled with irony, for example: “It is in theater criticism that the nests of bourgeois aesthetics, covering up the anti-patriotic, cosmopolitan, rotten attitude to Soviet art, have been preserved until recently. In theater criticism, an anti-patriotic group of bourgeois aesthetics followers has formed… These critics have lost their responsibility to the people; they are the bearers of a deeply disgusting for the Soviet people, hostile to them homeless cosmopolitanism; these critics hinder the development of Soviet literature, hinder its forward movement. They are alien to the sense of national Soviet pride” [23, p. 235].
The next day, January 29, appeared an article in the Literary Newspaper, entitled, “To Completely Expose the Anti-Patriotic Group of Theater Critics.” Its tone was harsher, even aggressive: “Cosmopolitanism—alien to the life and historical interests of its people, servile worship of the bourgeois culture of the West and the same servile misunderstanding of the great value of the mighty Russian national culture and the culture of other brotherly peoples of the USSR. The cosmopolitan, chuckling gloatingly, tries by all means to ‛discover’ one or another ‛parallel,’ one or another sign of similarity between the phenomena of Russian culture and the culture of the West. In the despicable desire to prove that the culture of the Russian people ‛borrowed’ from the West, manifests all the insignificance of such pseudo-makers of culture, people without lineage and tribe in love ‛with everything foreign’” [23, p. 242].
In further publications along this line, the emotional intensity did not fade away, and “cosmopolitans” were found in other areas of culture, for example: “Against Cosmopolitanism and Formalism in Poetry,” “Defeat Bourgeois Cosmopolitanism in Film Art.” However, it did not last long: already at the end of March 1949, the anti-cosmopolitan campaign was muted. At a meeting of editors of central newspapers and magazines in the agitprop of the Central Committee on March 29, 1949, there were calls to stop overreaching and stop unflattering rhetoric against Soviet figures of culture and science. Thus, one of the participants in the meeting, Vladimir Ermilov, said: “The main task is to affirm Soviet patriotism, so that the theme of the struggle against homeless cosmopolitanism goes in connection with the affirmation of positive values of our socialist culture and that the struggle against bourgeois cosmopolitanism has acquired an immeasurably deeper, devoid of any shouting, character” [23, p. 340]. Then, there began to appear publications directed against the fierce critics of cosmopolitanism.
Cosmopolitanism was increasingly associated not with Soviet culture, but with American imperialism; the United States was declared the source of cosmopolitanism. For example, an article in Pravda of April 7, 1949, is entitled “Cosmopolitanism is the Ideological Weapon of American Reaction.” Soviet ideology reinforced the idea that the U.S. had established an economic and political dictatorship over Europe, turning it into its protectorate (in fact, this was the case; to this day, Europe is completely subject to Washington’s commands). The article says: “In modern conditions, cosmopolitanism is an ideology of American domination over the whole world, an ideology of suppression of freedom and independence of peoples—big and small; an ideology of colonization of the European—and not only European—continent” [23, p. 372].
The anti-American (and partly anti-English) propaganda was intensifying, occasionally lapsing into shouting and profanity. The leadership, to its credit, noticed this and in good time, it reprimanded the overly enthusiastic propagandists, demanding that they deal with the merits, and not replace disclosures with profanity, i.e., serious work. In this way, Soviet counter-propaganda acquired meaning and purpose, in many ways spurring ideology and stimulating the development of ideological innovations and the development of Marxism-Leninism.
Europe, caught between the United States and Stalinist Russia, chose America and Americanism, remaining hostile to Russia, preserving its original hatred, even at the cost of losing its face and essence. American strategists supplemented their plans for the economic and political conquest of Europe, with plans for intellectual enslavement, which was successfully realized in the 1990s, when U.S. hegemony spread to all areas of Western life. This situation persists even now. Surprisingly, with the advent of US hegemony in world politics (which can be dated back to the time of Wilson’s presidency), Europe has to make more and more efforts and sacrifices to maintain the intensity of its anti-Russian policy, while at the same time it is rapidly losing its independence, sacrificing its interests, resources, and, finally, its people. The psychosis of Russophobia is exhausting Europe more and more rapidly, and yet it remains in this position because it is highly favorable to its American masters, who do not allow it to take any steps toward recovery, or at least toward alleviating its suffering; they do not even allow it to reflect on this sad situation.
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Featured: Meeting of Napoleon and Alexander I, anonymous etching, watercolor; German, 1808.
